


Colorful

by RedTeamShark



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Author Chose Not To Tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2019-09-07 07:42:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16849945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedTeamShark/pseuds/RedTeamShark
Summary: The meaning of colors is always changing.





	Colorful

**Author's Note:**

> Proper warnings, tags, etc, may come in the future. For the time being I'm frantically transferring my content to a stable platform amidst growing concerns about tumblr's inevitable implosion.
> 
> Apologies for flooding the fandom page.

Pink was a color that Michael hated. It was girly and too light and it just made him think of frills and laces. But now as he looked down at Lindsay’s pink blushing face he was really beginning to appreciate the color. The way it tinged her cheeks, drawing slowly down to her neck, disappearing under her top or, on certain occasions, flushing across her upper chest to her shoulders. Even the way that the pink of her blushing would darken, flare to almost red as he kissed every inch of warm skin, was so utterly appealing he had to make a conscious effort to refrain from just kissing her and making her blush all hours of the day.

-

Brown was always Lindsay’s least favorite color. As a little kid she had declared it ‘poopy’ and the feeling, though more appropriately articulated, stuck with her. Until the day she met Michael, the excitable, irritable, loud guy from New Jersey with a shockingly gentle side. Looking at his eyes completely flipped around her opinion on brown, the dark color of coffee with just a hint of cream to take off that bitter edge summarizing him so perfectly that she couldn’t stop herself from staring too often. She liked to keep her eyes open when she kissed him and he did the same, letting her watch the open play of emotions across his dark chocolate gaze.

-

For the longest time, perfume was something that disgusted him. The overpowering smell, overpriced containers of varying colors and shapes and sizes, not to mention the options of glitter in them. What purpose did the colors serve, anyways, when it all came out clear? He couldn’t stand when a girlfriend would ask for perfume as a present, would try to avoid giving her occasion to wear any. Until Lindsay, with her barely-there scent that he would swear was just her natural smell if he didn’t see her apply it. She didn’t leave a choking cloud of fake floral behind her when she walked by, didn’t litter the bathroom counter with countless bottles of things that supposedly all smelled different but to him all smelled like the same old horror show. One bottle at a time, cylindrical, clear, no glitter with a name that was easy to remember when she ran low and he surprised her with more. Michael moved rapidly from tolerating her perfume to loving it, the scent so deeply associated with Lindsay in his mind that he didn’t think he’d ever be able to remove the connection.

Not that he’d ever want to.

-

Tattoos were unnatural. Skin was meant to be the color of skin, decorated with freckles and scars and things that signified a life lived, that told a story of a person in the most subtle ways, ways that only those close to an individual would understand or be told about. Digging a needle into skin and forcing ink on it? Definitely not something she was fond of. Until her fingertips traced over the ink on Michael’s skin, feeling the extremely subtle shift in texture where he’d let someone else mark him. Until her lips tasted the ink on his arms and found it no different than the unmarked areas of his skin. Until the patterns meant as much to her as they did to him, something that was as emotionally important as any scar. Then she found tattoos, his tattoos, to be the most natural thing in the world.

Though she still wasn’t interested in getting one.


End file.
